


sugar never tasted so good

by vashtaneradas



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-03
Updated: 2013-03-03
Packaged: 2017-12-04 03:59:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/706292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vashtaneradas/pseuds/vashtaneradas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>louis sells rock candy and harry sells flowers and london is cold; aka a dumb valentine’s au.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sugar never tasted so good

**Author's Note:**

> own nothing/know nothing/obviously. completely fictionalised.
> 
> title from the white stripes.
> 
> part of the bella-tries-to-move-all-her-writing-over-to-ao3 marathon of 2013.

“Liam.”

Louis stares at him intently from the other end of the counter, eyes trained on Liam’s face. He’s biting his lip as he clicks around on his laptop, brow slightly furrowed.

“Liam,” Louis says a little louder.

“Mmm?” he replies, distracted. Louis just rolls his eyes, sighs and slumps down on the counter. No one’s been in for an hour and a half now. And don’t get him wrong, he likes being paid to sit and more or less babysit a shop full of rock candy in Carnaby Street – proximity to Topman is a selling point for Louis – but he’s so, so bored.

“Liam,” he says a bit louder, and finally Liam shuts his computer with a sigh, rests his head on his fist and looks at Louis disapprovingly.

“What, Lou? I’m trying to do something here, in case you haven’t—“

He cuts himself off as he sees the satisfied little smirk spread across Louis’ face.

“I hate you,” he says matter-of-factly, “you’re the devil, Louis Tomlinson.”

“Correct,” Louis replies, “also I’m great at annoying you enough to drop what you’re doing. Also I’m bored.”

Liam laughs a little, sits back in his chair. The shop is awfully quiet. He starts restacking the giant lollipops idly.

“You’re always bored,” he says, “literally always, Lou.”

“I know. Because nothing happens in here.” He groans dramatically and puts his feet up on the counter. “What were you doing, anyway?”

Liam’s brow furrows right back up, as though the weight of the world has just been cast on his shoulders.

“I’m trying to book a restaurant,” he says, “y’know, for me and Zayn. For Thursday.”

Louis blinks at him. He’s pretty sure their anniversary’s in June, they don’t shut the fuck up about it for about two months before it. It’s not Zayn’s birthday on Thursday, or Liam’s. Thursday. He has no idea what Thursday is.

“Thursday date, Li?” he asks, “sounds wild. What, grab a sandwich at Pret, watch Batman, bed at nine thirty so you can be up bright and early for class?”

He smirks again, and Liam just rolls his eyes, long suffering. Louis sometimes feels vaguely sorry for Liam, cooped up in this dank sweet shop all day with him going stir crazy. Not today though; today Louis is enjoying the particular shade of exasperated he’s turning Liam.

“No, you wanker,” he says primly, “no, it’s gonna be lovely. He pretends he doesn’t, but Zayn loves Valentine’s Day. He pencils it into his diary, the idiot.”

Louis nearly hurls at the fondness in Liam’s voice, but before he can his brain blinks into action.

“Wait. Valentine’s?” he squawks, “we just had New Year! It’s only fucking…” He cuts himself off, glances at his phone. Oh.

“February 11,” Liam supplies, “so you better go and find yourself a nice boy to take you to dinner on Thursday.”

Louis pulls a face, thinks momentarily that this probably accounts for the influx of red sweets coming in every day.

“I hate Valentine’s Day,” he says, “it’s dumb. You do know that, right?”

Liam just shrugs. “Dunno, Lou. Nice meal, nice chocolate, great sex. Seems okay to me.”

“Yeah well it would, wouldn’t it, considering you’ve been blessed with eternal happiness and—“

The shop door tinkles open, and before Louis can launch into a diatribe on the lack of meaningful love in his life, a smiling boy pops his head into the shop, looking between Louis and Liam.

“Hi,” he says slowly, a little unsure, “hi. Um. I don’t know if you know this, or whatever, but there’s a guy out there who used to sell flowers? In the mall?”

Louis nods. “Yeah, mate, that’s Greg.”

(Louis has a little crush on Greg. Louis sometimes spends many a quiet hour watching Greg charm his customers into buying a bunch of roses here, an orchid there. Greg has a nice smile. Greg also, Louis found out rather bitterly the other week, has a girlfriend. Still. He’s allowed to look. Louis is maybe a creep.)

“Right,” the guy says, sidling his way past the garish pink musk stick display on the left (Louis gets why it’s there, now), and into the shop. He’s carrying a bunch of white lilies and three bunches of fully bloomed red roses. “Right, well, he’s not doing it anymore. It’s, umm, it’s me now. So hi,” he says a little sheepishly, smiling, and Louis can’t help but smile back.

“Hi,” he says, “not to sound rude but, like, generally not everyone who works in the mall catches up for a 5pm rundown on the day’s work, or whatever.”

The boy laughs a little, looks down at his shoes, hands ludicrously full of flowers.

“I don’t imagine you do, no. No, I just…I used to do this, you know, sell flowers, down at Tottenham Court, and at the end of the day when there’s flowers left over I like to give ‘em away.”

Louis blinks. There’s perhaps a boy giving him flowers in the middle of his shop. He’s not sure; he might be dreaming.

“Anyway,” the boy says; Louis thinks he’s probably about twenty-one, twenty-two, “this is the only store still open where I’m not shit scared to get pollen on anything.”

Liam laughs at that, of course he does, Liam’s charmed by everyone.

“So, like…” he looks between them both, “d’you want some flowers?”

Louis is now fairly certain there’s a boy giving him free flowers in his shop. Which is, you know. Fine. Unexpected for a Monday evening, but fine. He’s not complaining.

“Sure,” he says with an easy smile, slightly enamoured by the floppy hair and shy little speech of flower-based altruism coming from the boy’s mouth, “that’d be lovely. Thank you.”

The guy seems a little relieved and relaxes, ambles over to the counter.

“Not a lot on offer, I’m afraid, but the lilies’ll come out nicely over the next couple of days and the roses have got two or three left in them.”

Louis quirks a smile. “Can I take the lilies?” he asks curiously, and the boy nods, grins and passes them over. His eyes linger on Louis’ face for a moment, smiling, before turning to Liam.

“Mate, if you’re giving them away, roses’d be great.” He turns to Louis at that. “Zayn loves roses. He made me go to the Chelsea Flower Show last year, did I ever tell you that?.”

Louis just rolls his eyes, turns back to a slightly perplexed (and very pretty, Louis notes,) flower vendor.

“This is Liam, your friendly neighbourhood lovesick puppy.” Liam just fixes him with a glare and raises a chuckle out of the boy. “It’s been two years and counting, it’s dreadful, you’ll get sick of him in five minutes.”

“Two years and six months,” Liam interjects, just a little proudly, “and you’ll get sick of this one in two and a half.”

“I, on the other hand,” Louis says loudly, ignoring Liam, “am appropriately cynical and witty about love and happiness and I’m very interesting. Also I’m Louis,” he says, and drops his head onto the counter for a moment, laughing and lamenting his own fucking ridiculousness, before looking back up.

“Harry,” Flowers says, dimples popping up somewhat delightedly at Louis’ little introduction, “I gotta go get rid of these,” he says, gesturing to the two bunches of deep red in his hands, “but I’ll see you guys around. Thanks for taking those off my hands.”

“No problem,” Louis says brightly, running a finger over one pearly white petal, “see you, Harry.”

And with that he leaves, backing out the creaky wooden door with a little laugh and the tinkle of the small bells above, like some fucking flower distributing, curly haired saint, or something. Louis isn’t quite sure what just happened.

Liam whistles, low and delighted. “Looks like someone’s got themselves a potential Valentine, Lou,” he says, his turn to smirk as Louis tears his eyes from the door. He fixes Liam with a withering stare.

“Shut up,” he says, “this isn’t high school. People don’t have mystery Valentines.”

“You do,” Liam sing songs, “you do, you do, you do.”

“Shut up.”

“And he gives you free flowers,” Liam continues.

“Shut up.”

“And he isn’t head over for his girlfriend like Greg,” Liam says, just to get the reaction. Louis perhaps is a little obvious when he watches Greg out the window.

“I said,” he says, standing up with a flourish and a two-fingered salute in Liam’s direction, “shut up.”

Liam doesn’t, not until Louis veritably kicks him out and says he’ll lock up.

***

Tuesday’s are shit.

Tuesday’s are shit because Louis opens shop and even though Niall’s there too, Tuesday’s are shit and early and it’s snowing and Louis’d spent an inordinate amount of time getting his hair cut and dried last night at the expensive place down the road and now it’s snowing in his hair because he hadn’t wanted to ruin it with a beanie and he’s cold and pissed off and someone on the train had fainted on top of him this morning and it’s snowing in his hair.

He grabs two coffees from the weird place on Argyll Street that smells far too much like falafel for seven in the morning and traipses down to the turnoff into Carnaby. He doesn’t even understand why a sweet shop has to be open at seven thirty on a Tuesday. Nick’s an idiot. Nick can open his own fucking shop at seven thirty in the morning if he feels like it. Louis briefly considers telling him this, but won’t, because Nick pays his wages.

“Good morning!”

Louis wheels around with a fright, nearly crash tackling a rugged up and pink-nosed Harry to the floor.

“Harry!” he says, “hi. What the fuck are you doing outside, for God’s sake, it’s freezing!”

Harry smiles at him from between his scarf and his coat collar and his beanie. Louis wants to kiss his very cold-looking cheeks.

“Flowers to sell,” he says, “not all of us have the luxury of a shop front, y’know.”

Louis looks at him, outraged. “You’re going to die out here,” he says matter-of-factly, “that’s all there is to it. You’re gonna die.”

Harry raises his eyebrows, rubs his gloved hands together and puffs out a laugh, air misting around him.

“Thanks, mate,” he says, smiling, before glancing down at Louis’ hands, “that coffee?”

Louis nods, and extends one out to him without thinking. “Take one,” he says, “seriously. You could use it more than me.”

Harry smiles like he’s just been offered a gold nugget. “You sure?” he asks.

“Yes, of course, God, it’s fucking Antarctic today.”

Harry groans in appreciation and takes a sip immediately, closing his eyes as the warmth courses through him.

“You’re a lifesaver,” he says, “thank you.”

Louis just winks, feels his ears going numb against the cold. “Bring me a bunch of something nice tonight and we’re even,” he says, “I gotta get inside, but really, please don’t die out here.”

“I won’t,” Harry says, “and I’ll save you something good!”

Louis smiles as he pushes his way inside, snow melting off his coat and his hair and his ears and what feels like his soul, it’s so cold outside.

“Morning,” Niall drawls from the self serve wall, filling one of the little compartments with Skittles, “who was that then?”

“New flower guy,” Louis shivers, cranking the heating up. He hopes it won’t melt the chocolate. “He’s standing out there all fucking da—“

“Oh!” Niall interjects brightly, “the one who gave you flowers last night? Liam was telling me about him, says he looked proper into you. Well done, Lou,” he smirks.

“Shut up,” Louis says.

“Awww, look at you, all shy and heart-eyed,” Niall coos, “he gonna bring you something nice this evening?”

He does, as a matter of fact. He gives Louis the last bunch he’s got left for the day; roses and tulips and small little branches of bright green leaves all threaded together and wrapped in blue paper. Louis smiles as Harry hands them to him, and offers him a stick of rock candy. Harry takes it with a grin and heads out to pack up his stall, and Louis does his valiant best to block out the merciless oohing and ahhing coming from Niall, sat in the corner eating a block of dark chocolate.

***

Louis doesn’t remember a lot about Wednesday; he’s too caught up in counseling his sister back home through her first broken heart and dealing with the lack of strawberry-flavoured Twizzlers to spend too much time looking at Harry.

He does look, though, when Harry walks in at half five, brandishing a bunch of yellow roses.

“They’re a bit visiting grandma in hospital,” he says apologetically, “but they’re the best I’ve got.”

“That’s okay!” Louis says with a smile, “I like ‘em. Offest the red and pink in here.”

He gestures round the shop at all the sweets bought in preemptively for tomorrow. Liam’s out the back, on the phone trying to book a table at Barbacoa. Louis doesn’t understand why Liam’s taking Zayn to what is, more or less, Jamie Oliver’s stakehouse for Valentine’s Day, but who’s he to argue? They’ve got two and half years under their belt, whereas Louis’ last boyfriend moved to New Zealand a year and a half ago without telling him. He thinks they probably don’t need his advice.

Harry just laughs. “Wait till you see all the flowers I have to sell tomorrow,” he muses, “double price, too.”

Louis smiles, ducks his head to smell the yellow flowers that Harry’s still holding. “Gonna be anything leftover for me?” he asks, dramatically, “I haven’t got a Valentine, you see, if you don’t bring me anything I’ll probably just drown myself in the bath. Or in my tears. Or in the melted snow.”

He blinks beseechingly up at Harry who bites his lip and shakes his head a little disbelievingly.

“We’ll see, Lou,” he says, apparently already on nickname terms, not that Louis’ complaining, “customers first.”

He leaves the flowers on the counter, just in front of Louis, and turns to leave the small shop.

“Oh! Wait,” Louis calls after him, “I turned the heating up too far today and kinda melted some of the chocolate hearts out back. Milk, white or dark?”

Harry turns back to look at him, considers the question quite seriously.

“Milk, I think,” he says slowly. Louis brings up a small bowl of slightly misshapen hearts, holding them out towards Harry.

“Take as many as you like, if I don’t get rid of them my boss’ll lose it,” he says. Harry takes a handful, nibbles on one before smiling.

“They’re delicious,” he says, before turning and looking outside at the blanket of snow still, inexplicably, falling over London. “I gotta go pack up,” he says, “thanks for these, though.”

And with that he’s gone, and all Louis can hear after the soft tinkle of the bells is Liam out back; yeah, we’ll be out by ten. Promise. Yes. Brilliant, thank you. Yeah, Liam Payne. For two, yeah, thanks.

***

Louis doesn’t actually hate Valentine’s Day all that much. For the most part, he’s indifferent to it. He’s had two good ones and three bad ones and nineteen neutral ones. He just finds it easier, or something, to be a love-hating bastard on February 14 when he’s single. He doesn’t like the sad, pitying looks from his friends, or his customers, or his mother, and the amount that get cast his way is fractionally reduced if he rolls his eyes and pretends he’s better than Hallmark cards and nice dinners. So. That’s what he plans on doing today.

In his line of work though, Valentine’s Day is a very lucrative day. Rather than being its quite little self, the shop is buzzing from opening, a constant stream of nervous looking college students and hurried business types and teenagers buying as much as they possibly can for whoever it is they might be going home to.

Louis flicks his eyes out the window when he’s got a minute, to see what Harry’s up to. If Louis’ busy, he’s flat out, pushing bunches of beautifully wrapped roses into the hands of people not caring how much they spend for just one day. Louis notices the petals, dotted in the fine snow that’s been falling continuously since he woke up.

At lunch he pokes his head outside into the cold and Harry catches his eye, gives a little wave.

“How’s Valentine’s trading going, then?” Louis calls across the street.

Harry gives him two thumbs up and before he can answer a man with a sandwich in one hand and his wallet in the other comes up and points to one of the arrangements Harry has under his stall. Louis smiles, retreats back into the warmth and watches Harry have a laugh and a chat with the man who ducks back up to the Circus not five minutes later. Before he can move out of Harry’s line of sight (he’s not a creep, really, there just happen to be lots of pretty boys who sell flowers outside his work), Harry looks up expectantly, green eyes searching for him from across the road.

He catches Louis looking and laughs, winks and blows him a kiss. Louis doesn’t have time to respond before a customer taps him on the shoulder to ask if there are anymore chocolate boxes left out back. Which is probably good, he thinks in retrospect, because he’s quite sure he could’ve stood there for a hundred years and not come up with anything to do other than stare back in disbelief.

It’s a long, long, day, and Louis has found himself agreeing to close by himself, letting Liam go early because he’s a fucking amazing friend. His friends should build plaques in his honour. His friends should reward him with money and affection and anything else he wants. He’s brilliant, really he is.

Zayn walks in at five with a smile on his grotesquely well constructed face, eyes searching for Liam who’s doing stock take out back. Louis just rolls his eyes.

“Hey, Zayner,” he says, “Li’ll be done in a bit.”

“What?” Liam calls, crashing back through the stockroom door and into the store, “why are you saying my name, Lou, what happ—“

He cuts himself off as he sees Zayn standing there, all rugged up and hair soft from the snow, and his face lights up in a way that mildly concerns Louis.

“Oh,” he says softly, “hey, babe.”

“Hey,” Zayn says, “Happy Valentine’s. Sorry I had to leave before you woke up, early shift.”

“S’okay,” Liam murmurs, leaning in to give him a kiss, “missed you though.”

“Missed you too.”

“Oh my God,” Louis interjects loudly, “can you please leave before I knock both your heads together?”

Zayn and Liam roll their eyes in unison, which only makes it worse.

“Yeah, yeah, we’re going. You right to close up?” Liam asks.

Louis nods, waves him off. “Go and have fun, eat a steak and shag each other senseless. I’m fine.”

“M’sure you are,” Zayn says, smirking, “Liam tells me there’s quite the cute flower boy across the roa—“

“Shut up,” Louis says, sticking his fingers in his ears because he may or may not be a child, “leave me alone and go and be happy and in love and leave me to close up this depressingly empty sweet shop.”

Liam and Zayn just laugh, give him a kiss on the cheek each and make their way out. Zayn helps Liam with his coat before Liam opens the door for him. Louis hates them.

He sighs, comes out from behind the counter to look at the damage that’s been done today. The shop looks like a bomb hit it; sample wrappers strewn everywhere, shelves empty, anything not sold almost exclusively five inches from where it’s meant to be. It’s going to be a long night. He’s glad he’s got nowhere to be.

“Hello?”

Louis snaps his attention up to the door. He hadn’t heard the bells ring, but there Harry’s standing, rubbing his hands together and shivering slightly in the delicious warmth of the store.

“Hey,” Louis says with a smile, “it’s nice to see you, Haz, thought you were gonna be a no-show today.”

Harry drops his jaw in mock offence; Louis laughs, leans back on the counter and cocks his head to the side.

“Why?” he asks, “I have a perfect track record.” He walks into the store properly, and Louis hops up to sit on the counter, watches as Harry runs his hands over the little wooden shelves, taking in the mayhem of the day.

“Well, you stood out in the cold all day, and it’s the busiest day of your year, so. Thought you might be tired.”

“I’m guessing yours was pretty busy, too?” he asks, holding up what looks to be a half bitten candy heart. Louis snorts, nods.

“Guess it was. What’re you doing tonight, anyway? Got someone to sweep you off your feet?”

Harry takes a wary bite of a strawberry filled chocolate before eating the rest. “No,” he says, “’fraid not.”

“Do you have to do the sweeping, then?”

Harry laughs at that, bursting and bright, and it makes Louis feel warm right down to his toes. He cocks his head in Harry’s direction, and Harry comes over to where he’s sitting, grinning like an idiot.

“Still no,” he says, facing Louis, hands dipping into the freebies bowl before his brow furrows in disappointment. It’s empty.

“Oi!” Louis says, batting his hand away, “don’t think you can come in here and stick your hands into every bowl you see, you bast—“

He’s silenced, quite effectively, by Harry smiling and leaning up to press a kiss to his lips. He lingers there for a moment, waiting for Louis to catch up. It takes him a few seconds, is the thing, because he really was not planning on getting kissed tonight. But at the taste of mint on Harry’s lips intermingled with the sugar on his own, the hands sliding him across the bench and pulling him closer, he cottons on pretty quickly. He kisses Harry back, cups his face in his hands and can’t help the pleased little hum that escapes his lips. Perched up on the bench he’s the same height as Harry, so runs a hand through his hair and tugs on it gently, opening Harry’s mouth up. His tongue flicks over Louis’, a little mint, a little green tea, and the hands on his back hold him a little tighter as Harry pulls away gently, green eyes sparkling and lips cherry red.

“Hi,” Harry says, sounding a little dazed, “so I was thinking. Will you be my Valentine?”

It’s absurd. Real people don’t do this. Real people go home and watch a rerun of a bad BBC drama on TV and eat a Sainsbury’s takeaway curry and go to bed on Valentine’s Day. Or they’re Liam and Zayn, Louis supposes, but that’s different. Real single people take the first option. They don’t get kissed by people selling red roses in the snow.

“You didn’t bring me any flowers,” he points out, still sitting up on the bench. He jumps down, Harry’s hands moving to his waist as he does so, “how am I meant to know if you’re really after my heart?”

Harry laughs, presses a gentle kiss to his lips. “To be fair,” he says, gesturing to the bowl, “you didn’t save me any sweets.”

“I didn’t ask you to be my Valentine, though,” Louis says, ducking his head into Harry’s chest and laughing at the look of outrage on his face.

“Is this you turning me down?” Harry asks, tilting Louis’ chin up, “because I don’t think I can let you use me as somewhere to muffle your amused laughter if that’s the case.”

Louis just rolls his eyes, presses up onto his toes and returns the kiss.

“No, you idiot, I’m not turning you down. I’ll be your Valentine,” he says, and pushes a finger into the dimple in Harry’s cheek. Harry just shakes his head.

“Good,” he says, “because I saved you a big dumb bunch of flowers today, and I want to give them to you when I cook you a roast tonight.”

Louis opens and closes his mouth. He’s not sure this is really happening. Which is fine, he’s not complaining if it is all a dream, but it’d be really quite lovely if someone would pinch him right now and prove it’s real.

“You’re heaps better than a Sainsbury’s curry, you know that?” he says

Harry cocks his head, a little. “What does that even mean?” he asks.

Louis laughs, shakes his head and grabs his coat from behind the counter. The shop can wait till the morning.

“Nothing,” he says, “c’mon, let’s get out of here.”

As he goes to put his hands in his pockets, Harry right behind him as he opens the door to the cold, he feels something in there. He pulls it out by the stick, and laughs. It’s one of the Valentine’s Day lollipops, made from Blackpool Rock candy which is probably his favourite thing in the whole shop. He’d kept it aside all day so he could take it home and eat it tonight.

He looks up at Harry, who’s eyeing him curiously.

“I was quite depressingly gonna try and eat myself into a sugar induced coma tonight,” Louis says to him, “but apparently I have a Valentine now. So. In return for kissing me like you’re Hugh fucking Grant, and cooking me dinner, and saving me roses, would you like some overpriced rock candy?”

Harry laughs, takes the swirl of red and pink from Louis’ hands.

“You’re quite something,” he says, smiling, taking it. With that, Louis locks up, and as he turns out onto the street is met with Harry tugging him through the snow, laughing and pressing a kiss on his cheek as they round the corner.


End file.
